Salt CK Falls, Diamond CK Falls & Mount Yoran
Some hikes are all about the summit. Others are about waterfalls, fog, wet socks, and whatever mystery the forest decides to hand you that day. This one somehow managed to be all of the above.
I started from the Salt Creek Falls Trailhead, which is currently under construction, but don’t let that scare you off—there’s still plenty of parking available. The morning arrived wrapped in clouds with the kind of heavy air that promises either adventure or damp misery. As it turns out, both.
The walk to Salt Creek Falls is incredibly short, and honestly, the waterfall wastes no time impressing you. Even with construction limiting access to the main viewpoint, it’s still worth stopping. You can tell this place is spectacular when a partially obstructed view still makes you stand there for a minute saying, dang.
From there, I continued toward Diamond Creek Falls, crossing a charming bridge that somehow looked even moodier beneath the low clouds. Around 1.4 miles in, you’ll catch your first glimpse of Diamond Falls. Be sure to take the short side trail down to the right for a much better vantage point. If you’re feeling ambitious—or don’t mind a little mist—you can continue farther for an up-close encounter with the falls.
The fog had absolutely zero interest in burning off as I continued onward.
Eventually, I reached the Vivian Lake junction and followed the trail to the right. A quick heads up: Vivian Lake seems to have two sections, and the second section feels like the “main event,” so make sure to wander far enough before turning back. It’s worth it.
After returning to the main trail and heading toward Mount Yoran, I passed a smaller unnamed lake just beyond Vivian that might actually be prettier depending on your mood. Quiet, reflective, and tucked away in the trees—it had that classic hidden-gem energy.
Then came the moisture.
The trail begins losing elevation shortly after, but while the trail was dropping, my water weight was rapidly increasing. Rain-soaked brush lined the path and repeatedly slapped against my legs like the forest had a personal issue with dry clothing. Before long, I was completely drenched from the thighs down, and my shoes had officially transitioned into portable puddles.
Around 6.5 miles, the trail makes a sharp hairpin turn and begins climbing again. At roughly 8 miles, Diamond Peak finally makes its first appearance—well, sort of. The mountain spent most of the day hiding behind clouds like a shy celebrity avoiding paparazzi. Still, I held onto hope that maybe, just maybe, the return trip would offer a better showing.
Along the way, I ran into Mike and Wayne from Oakridge, the only people I’d see all day. We chatted for a while before their dogs apparently decided I was the more interesting hiking partner and followed me for the next half mile before eventually remembering who actually fed them.
Around mile 9, Mount Yoran finally comes into view, and by mile 10, you reach a beautiful lake resting right at its base. It felt like the perfect place to stop, pop a squat, eat some lunch, and enjoy a little hiker TV—that timeless entertainment of staring at water while pretending you’re deep in thought.
After a little more conversation with my only trail companions of the day, I started heading back.
And then, like a small reward from the hiking gods for enduring soaked feet and endless fog, Diamond Peak briefly revealed itself. Just long enough to admire it before the clouds quickly pulled the curtain closed again.
The rest of the hike back was pleasantly uneventful. I was somehow a little less soaked, though still far from dry. As the day wore on, the clouds rolled deeper into the forest, giving everything a mysterious, moody atmosphere—the kind that makes you feel like something magical is either about to happen… or you’re about to accidentally walk into a very confused sasquatch.
Either way, not a bad way to spend nearly 20 miles